


I Am Wounded

by bronweathanharthad



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 21:19:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8225092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronweathanharthad/pseuds/bronweathanharthad
Summary: It is one year to the day since Weathertop, and Frodo is filled with despair.





	

_“Come back, come back. To Mordor we will take you.” Deathly cold coursing through him as though it were his own blood. Unseen hands grasping at him as he sank into unconsciousness._

    Frodo awoke with heart pounding and head swimming. The confusion quickly abated, though to his dismay the cold lingered and strengthened as reality took hold. He shivered in silence, wishing to not alert his sleeping companions and have Gandalf believe that he still slept.

    As he lay there, gripping his cloak tightly, a great heaviness took hold. It seeped through every inch of his body until he feared that he would lack the strength to get up. Tiredness crept to him soon, and he closed his eyes, hoping that the heaviness would subside after sleeping a little longer.

    But sleep would not come, for a sudden stabbing sensation caused him to cry out softly. The stabbing transformed into a dreadful ache, and only then did he realize what had caused this sudden illness.

 

Due to the depth of his weariness, Frodo needed a concerning amount of time to put his belongings back onto his pony, and his discomfort was greatly apparent as he mounted the pony.

    “What’s wrong, Frodo?” Merry asked.

    _It is my shoulder._ But the words remained stubbornly in Frodo’s brain, refusing to leave his lips. So he only shook his head, averting his gaze for fear of Merry’s reaction.

    Frodo’s uncharacteristic silence puzzled Pippin. Should he not have at least said it was nothing? What horrible thing would cause him to become completely nonverbal?

    _What is the matter with him?_ Sam had never known Frodo to be completely silent, unless he was so deeply preoccupied and tormented that he could not speak. Yet Mordor was far behind them, and Frodo had long since recovered from the physical wounds. What had caused this sudden spell, and why was Sam to afraid to learn?

    Gandalf, for his part, said nothing. His frown, however, would have deeply worried any hobbit that looked at him.

 

_Creeping cold. Engulfing poison. Obscuring mists. Otherworldly hands. Utter blackness._

    His shoulder throbbed anew with every rocking step. His hands grasped the reigns until his knuckles turned white. His eyes shut whenever possible, and yet the Nine’s fiery eyes burned his very soul.

    Soon the five reached the Ford. Three of the hobbits and Gandalf entered the calm waters after offering their steeds a little encouragement, but Frodo lingered on dry land.

    _The waters stopped them from taking me. I gave in so soon after. What would have become of me if…?_

    “Frodo?”

    Merry’s voice startled him back into reality. They all looked so worried. How long had he been frozen here? He urged his pony forward and focused his gaze on the pony’s neck as he crossed the water.

 

The pain worsened as the day progressed. It expanded like cracks in ice, webbing its way down his arm and towards his heart.

    _I must make it through today. It will pass tomorrow, won’t it? But all the same, the pain will linger, just as it has all these months. It is bound to get worse, and will they purge me of the poison? Can they? Will they know what to do with such a wound? Will it kill me before I have the chance to know?_

_And what if the shadow-realm can still claim me? I never completely left it. How else could I sense the Nine’s presence? Are they waiting to snatch me even now? I would not have the strength to resist, not again, not after everything. What torments would await me there?_

    As if in answer to his worries, another stabbing feeling racked his shoulder, causing him to gasp in pain. Tears briefly stung his eyes, and even after the pain subsided his apprehension remained. It was only mid-afternoon, and it was likely to worsen after nightfall.

    “Are you in pain, Frodo?” Gandalf asked.

    _When did he get here? How long has he been by my side?_ “Well, yes I am,” he answered, his voice quiet and halting. “It is my shoulder. The wound aches, and the memory of darkness is heavy on me. It was a year ago today.”

 

The company stopped for the night just after the sun set – earlier than they had during their travels, but Gandalf made the call, and none of the hobbits wanted to object.

    Sam, Merry, and Pippin gathered some fallen branches for kindling, and Frodo and Gandalf started the fire. They ate supper in silence, the three hobbits worrying for Frodo but not wishing to bring him discomfort. They’d all partially overheard Frodo and Gandalf’s conversation, though both had spoken too quietly for Merry or Pippin to make out any words. Sam, though, was close enough to hear Gandalf’s part of the conversation, and now he understood why Frodo had been in this sorry state.

    Penetrating chill assailed Frodo’s body now that it was night. That, combined with the gradually worsening pain, caused him to lose his appetite completely. He felt ill after only a couple bites of supper, and he feared he might get sick if he ate any more.

    Frodo decided to remove himself from Merry and Pippin. He did not know what terrors awaited him in the coming hours, and if he could spare his young friends the sight of him being an utter wreck, that might be best for them.

    But before he settled down for the night, he called Sam over. “Will you stay with me?” he asked, his voice betraying his feebleness.

    “Of course,” Sam replied, almost before Frodo was finished speaking. Wondering whether he should ask and knowing that Frodo would not tell him unprompted, he added, “It’s your shoulder, isn’t it?”

    Frodo nodded. “It was one year ago today.”

    “If there is anything I can do—”

    “I just need you nearby.”

 

Despite his pain, Frodo fell asleep quickly – on his side, tightly curled up, shivering slightly.

    His gaunt, pale complexion made Sam’s blood run cold. He looked as if he were at death’s door. The last time he was so pale, Sam thought he had actually died.

    He moved closer to Frodo, as he had done in Mordor, and draped one arm over his side. To Sam’s relief, his master still breathed, though his body oughtn’t to have been so cold to the touch. Feeling the rhythm of Frodo’s breathing, he soon fell asleep.

 

_The fire still burned, Aragorn nowhere in sight._

_Five of the Nine materialized out of the blackness. The hobbits were on their own._

_Merry and Pippin disappeared, where to Frodo could not guess. Frodo and Sam hunched together, both cowering, unable to defend themselves or hide._

_Desire engulfed him, a great and terrible desire._ I cannot, I _must_ not, _but the power was far too strong. He found It and slipped It onto his finger._

_The knife glowed with a nightmarish light, a knife not from the world of the living. His blood curdled at the mere sight._

_He drew his own sword and slashed at his foe, invoking the name of Elbereth. A deafening cry pierced his ears, and the knife struck._

    He woke up crying out and grasping his shoulder, agony and ice-coated swords reverberating through him as though he had been stabbed anew. Someone’s hand touched his right shoulder, but whose? What did they want from him?

    “Mr. Frodo, it’s all right. You’re all right. It was only a bad dream. You’re safe now.”

    Though the pain had barely lessened, his breathing normalized, and the tension abated. “Thank you, Sam,” he said in a whisper. “I’m sorry that I disturbed you.”

    “You shouldn’t apologize for that, sir. You can’t help having a nightmare.”

    Frodo sighed and lowered his head to the ground. Exhausted as he was, he dreaded the idea of sleeping. What if he suffered another, more vivid nightmare, one that he could not awaken from in time? What if this continued into tomorrow and next week and next year? What if this was his life now, condemned to suffer and relive until he lost all will to live?

    He must have tensed again, for Sam gave his shoulder a reaffirming squeeze. “Maybe this will all pass in the morning. In any case, I’m here, and I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

    Frodo pondered Sam’s words even after Sam went back to sleep. _Maybe he’s right. Maybe the worst of it will leave. If it is only one day of the year, perhaps I can manage it. I do not know how long I will have to wait for the ships, but perhaps I will make it. Perhaps it will be better once we are home._

    Sleepiness crept to him, and he did not try to fight it. Relishing the comfort of Sam’s embrace, he closed his eyes.

   


End file.
